


The Eye of the Storm

by pleasanthell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasanthell/pseuds/pleasanthell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her words are soft and her lips brush against your ear, “I’m trying my best.”</p><p>She doesn’t need to give you context. She’s trying her best to allow herself to be with you. She wants you, but there are things holding her back. They’re things that you don’t understand. They’re things that you can’t fight off. Clarke had to do it for herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eye of the Storm

Your throne creaks as you moved from one side to the other. All is quiet in the tower and the room you’re in is mostly dark. Your nightgown slides a little against the worn wooden throne. You rest your elbow on the arm of the massive chair and leaned your chin on it, momentarily forgetting and then quickly remembering that you the cut on your lip still stings. You lift your chin and just press your back against the thorn. You shouldn’t lean over in the throne anyway. Anya always got onto you for that. She’d kick your shin and tell you that no one respects a Heda that slouches.

You sit up straight and put both of your arms on the arms of the chair, lining them up perfectly so that your hands can wrap around the knobbed ends. You looked at all the chairs that had been brought in for the ambassadors. The ambassadors that betrayed you. You grit your teeth. You know that the coup was speared to death, but you still worry about that ambassadors you have left. They are weak and allowed themselves to be strong armed into a fractured alliance instead of coming to you.

You don’t know what you could have done to avert the attempted overthrow. You were so sure that you had everything under control. You lean forward and placed your elbows on your knees and place your head in your hands. You need to refocus on the present. You can’t change the past. You have to focus on the future.

After a deep breath, you push your hair out of your face and lean against the right side of your chair. Your eyes drift to the empty chair on your left. The single person who kept you from being tossed out and exiled sat there and defied the Ice Queen in front of everyone. She stare hard at the chair and remember when Clarke stood by your side to fight off a complete obliteration of everything you had accomplished so far and everything you hoped to do in the future.

You lean too far to the side and a sharp pain shoots around your ribs to your back and to the other side of your body. You sit up straight and cross your legs, one over the other. You can almost feel Anya kick your shin so you sit up a little straighter.

It’s the middle of the night and everyone in the tower is asleep except for the guards who silently roam the halls at night. You stare hard at the ground in front of the door to your ceremonial room. The wind blows in behind you and it’s chilly, but not enough to get you to move to get a coat or a fur from your bed.

You think of your people. You may have to travel with Roan to the Ice Nation to ensure his position as King. You didn’t want to have to leave Polis so soon, but your life has never been about your wants. You’ll send word to Indra in the morning to tell the Trikru that most of them can go home. There still needs to be a few left in case Nia has some loyal soldiers willing to carrying out her attack after her death.

You let out a small smile. Commander’s aren’t supposed to have clans. Even if you were born in a clan, you were raised in Polis. You don’t belong to Trikru anymore. You belong to the thirteen clans. It doesn’t stop you from being especially proud of Trikru. They have been welcoming to Skaikru and always willing to extend a hand. That is the kind of coalition you have been trying to build. One of compassion and brotherhood.

“Lexa?”

Your eyes snap toward the door at your name being called. It’s dark in the doorway, but you know the voice. Clarke steps into the candle light, the dim light barely picking up the blue of her gown.

“Clarke,” you say her name automatically. Her presence leaves you speechless for a moment. You didn’t expect her to be awake, much less standing in your doorway. She should be in bed. “Is everything alright?”

She steps farther in, enough for her eyes to catch the moonlight coming in behind you from between the curtains. She crossed her arms, “I just couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk would help.” She pauses, looking at you. She’s studying you. You don’t know what she’s looking for and you wish you did. She finally asks, “Why are you up? I figured you’d sleep really well after all the excitement today.”

You keep your place on the throne, slightly elevated. You’re usually really comfortable above everyone else in the room, but it feels wrong with Clarke. You’ve never really seen her as beneath you. You’ve never been her Commander.

When you don’t answer she adds, “I guess a Heda’s work is never done.”

You stay still, “It’s not.” Your work will never be done. When your spirit leaves your body, it will seek out the next Commander and begin its work all over again. You belong to your people and your people need you always. You don’t have to tell Clarke. You can see it in her eyes. Even standing there with you, her mind is somewhere else. “You’re worrying about your people.”

Her eyes refocus on you and she subtly nods. She takes a few more steps toward you. You hope that that means she’s comfortable with you. You hope that she feels like she can confide in you. You want to be a safe place for her because you know how lonely the kind of leadership the two of you provide can be.

“They’re safe,” you assure her. If something was going to happen to them, it would have already happened and you would have already gotten word. You can’t sit above her and speak to her anymore so you slowly and stiffly stand. You don’t want her to know how sore you are from your fight so you try to make your movements as fluid as possible.

You wait for her to meet your eyes before turning toward the balcony and walking out into the cool night.

“Do you stop worrying about your people even when they’re safe?” Clarke asks you, following you onto the metal and stone overhang.

You stop next to the railing and turn toward her. She’s even more strikingly beautiful in the moonlight. You answer her question, “No. Never.” You know that she knew that. You look out over Polis. Most of the city has gone dark for the night. The walls around the city are still lit, but none with a blue flame signaling an attack. The wind blows your hair away from your face. You want to tell Clarke that she doesn’t have to worry alone. You want to tell her that the burden of protecting her people isn’t just hers anymore.

Like so many things that you wish you could say to Clarke, they die in your throat.

You look down and see a cat slinking along the road, unhindered by anyone or anything else. It jumps onto a market stall and then onto the awning that covers it. It curls into a ball and goes to sleep.

You feel a tickle on the inside of your wrist. Fingertips lightly slide across your palm and thread themselves between your fingers. You look down to find Clarke holding your uninjured hand. Her grip on you is loose, like she doesn’t know how you’ll react or maybe because she’s not sure if she should be doing what she’s doing.

You want to think about why she’s doing this. You want to know why she’s holding your hand. You want to ask her, but you’re overwhelmed by her fingers on you. It’s been so long since anyone has touched like this. The healers have to clean your wounds and you have to shake hands with ambassadors or village leaders sometimes, but…this touch from Clarke is different.

She’s touching you without political intention. She’s not tending to a wound. You look at her face and see how unsure she is. She doesn’t know if what she’s doing is okay. She doesn’t know what it means. You want nothing more than to kiss her. You want to kiss her and hold her. You’ve both spend so much time making sure that her people are protected. You want to spend the night protecting her. You want to spend the rest of the night with your arms around her making sure no harm comes to the sky girl who fell into your territory.

But you will not move to kiss her. You know that she is trying to best to do what is right for her people. You know what it’s like to push your feelings back and position them behind the needs of your people. You can see it in her eyes. She’s sinking in the water and she won’t ask you to save her because the last time you did, you had to throw her back into the deep to save your people.

You clench your jaw and look down. You will never apologize for what you did, but the look on Clarke’s face as you walked away haunted you.

Your eyes close when the fingers of her free hand ghost over the tattoo on your arm. She traces it with her fingers starting from the top and working her way slowly down. You almost forgot what this kind of human contact was like. Touch with no intention. Touch with no motive.

You tighten your hand around hers and open your eyes waiting for her reaction. She’s scared. You can see it all over her. You can see it in the slight crease between her eyebrows. You can see it in the tense muscles of her jaw. You can see it in her wide eyes.

Words fail you miserably. You don’t have reassuring words. You’ve already done what you could. You’ve sworn fealty to her. You’ve done everything that you can for her to know that she can trust you. You’re not sure she’s ready to let herself be with you. You’re not sure she’ll ever be ready.

It feels like acid in your gut when you think about it. She wasn’t exactly innocent when you met her, but she didn’t have the souls of every single Mountain Man weighing her down. You can see it. You can see the burden on her shoulders making each step a hundred times harder to make. She wasn’t raised since she was six years old to be able to make the cold decisions that you do.

Her body turns to face you and her hand that was admiring your tattoo, touches your neck. Her hand rests lightly on the curve of your neck, making it easier for her to push up on her toes and kiss your cheek. Her breath is irregular as it glides across the other side of your neck.

She doesn’t fall away immediately. She continues to hold your hand, but pressed your joined hands to her chest. Her cheek rests against your own. It’s all so much at once. You would have never guessed that a simple gesture could completely unravel your defenses.

Her words are soft and her lips brush against your ear, “I’m trying my best.”

She doesn’t need to give you context. She’s trying her best to allow herself to be with you. She wants you, but there are things holding her back. They’re things that you don’t understand. They’re things that you can’t fight off. Clarke had to do it for herself. Her issues are her own. But it brings you joy to know that she wants this enough to fight for it.

You nod, placing a gentle hand on her waist. You don’t press or guide her in any way. You just want her to know that you’re there.

When she falls back on her heels you get a chance to look at her face. Her brilliant eyes are glistening, but no tears fall. She gives you a soft smile and you know that it’s time.

“Goodnight Ambassador,” you slowly pull your hand out of hers and drop your hand from her waist.

It only seems to make her smile grow. She ducks her head for a moment before smiling tenderly back at you. “Goodnight, Lexa.”

The use of your name makes you smile. You both stand on the balcony basking in each other’s presence until she turns to walk out the door.


End file.
